Art therapy, mourning, and me
(Short escapes, silent longings, small joys)
“ We do not escape into philosophy, psychology, and art — we go there to rebuild our broken selves” (Anaïs Nin, For the Sensitive Man and other essays)
I wonder if, during mourning, after some time, we start to run away and look for places where we will rise like a phoenix from the ashes. Escapes are different. From ourselves, from problems, from lack, from excess, from good and bad events, from what we can endure and what we do not want to endure.
I’m running away too. I run away from conversations about death, cemeteries, and diseases. No, I’m not naive. I know it’s a natural part of life. However, sometimes there is too much of This Element, so I run away.
Or maybe it’s not an escape, but I’m taking myself to other areas. Or I’m looking for places of renewal to regain the strength to endure the sad elements of life.
I’m looking for reasons to take myself for walks to other areas. Not to the cemeteries, not to grieve together, not to think about people who are no longer there.
I became greedy for joy. I’m looking for small joys. Intensively. I returned to my Klaster choir. I attended choir workshops. I go to karaoke, to the cinema, to concerts whenever I can. I’m meeting my friends. In addition, I cook dinner and take my extraordinary dog for a walk.
I talk as much as I can with my family, neighbors, and dog owners on walks. I feel good around animals. I need the company of people. I need art to live. And I eat a lot of yogurt jellies. Much. I know it’s not very special and not very healthy, but jelly beans immediately improve my bad mood. They are colorful, delicious, and … full of vitamins, as the producers assure.
Sometimes life becomes a great longing. I miss my mom. I miss what we went through together and what we will never do together again.
And when life becomes longing, this state “penetrates through the skin to the muscles and bones, which then begin to exist painfully. They do not begin to hurt. They begin to exist painfully — it means that the basis of their existence is pain. Therefore, there is no escape from such longing. You would have to escape outside your own body, and even outside yourself. Get drunk? Sleep for weeks on end? Become so active to the point of madness? Pray constantly?” (Olga Tokarczuk, Day House, Night House)
Well, what to do?
I always focused on the fact that escaping is only from something and that’s basically where my thoughts ended. And yet Bernhard Schlink put it beautifully “ to escape is not only to leave somewhere but also to reach somewhere”.
So I reach ports known and unknown. We all have ways of dealing with small and big longings, for small and big escapes. “We work, we speak, we are silent, we decorate, we write, we read, we go to sea, we perform on stage, we stand still or we rush forward — far, forward. Over time, we find the best way to escape the dark wolves of fear, finally learn to live with them, and even feel like we have tamed them.” (Sylvain Tesson, In the Siberian Forests)
My known ports are writing, contact with art, contact with music, and choral singing. Lately, I’ve been doing karaoke, although before I wouldn’t have thought it was something for me.
Like a little child, I want good things to happen now. And since I heard that good things come to those who hustle (Anaïs Nin), I have to hustle more.
It is also an encouragement to the lightness of being. There are so many difficult, sad, and heavy moments in life. Let’s write down in our calendars those moments that are lighter, fleeting, and often inaccessible to others. Let’s fill our time with good events, fate will take care of the difficult ones without asking for our consent.
I can always rely on my beloved Moomins, hence the next quote: “You can lie on a bridge and watch the water flow under it. Or running and wading through the swamps in red boots. Or curl up in a ball and listen to the rain falling on the roof. It’s very easy to have a nice time.”
A few days ago, in the twilight, I was returning home and heard someone calling: Zephyr, wait. Zephyr turned out to be a dog (not a miniature pinscher) and he was certainly very happy with his name.
Let’s be happy like Zephyr, with ourselves, with our names, with our lives, with our walks, with the company of a loved one, and with the wind that blows away the dark clouds in our heads.
Let’s collect personal evidence of the lightness of being and have a nice time.
With a zephyr breeze,
Yours M
PS. Is it easy for you to have a nice time and what do you do then?
